


Silence

by Greysgate



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gay For You, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 14:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14696484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greysgate/pseuds/Greysgate
Summary: Without a word, Jack finally tells Daniel how he feels.





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Daniel POV

Night watch is good for thinking; only sometimes I’d rather just do the job.  I’m a few minutes early for my shift, but that’s okay because I couldn’t sleep anyway.  It’s two AM and I’m dog tired, but the cool air outside the tent is refreshing, invigorating.  I smooth out some of the wrinkles in my pants from my fruitless attempt at sleeping, and look around. 

I can’t sleep because Jack and I talked last night. He brought the pizza; I supplied the wine – a couple of bottles of really nice Chianti. We started out just reminiscing and ended up clearing the air between us. There were apologies issued and forgiveness gained; we got close. Very close. Back to the way we were in the early days. 

We just didn’t get close _enough_. Not for me, anyway. Then again, I don’t suppose any amount of talking will ever bring us as close as I’d like for us to be. 

With a sigh of resignation, I check my Beretta, return it to the holster strapped to my right thigh, and reach down to shift my package in my shorts, settling everything into a more comfy spot. Just then I see Jack approaching, coming toward the tent to wake me for my turn at guard duty. I snatch my hand away, hoping he didn’t notice what I was doing.  

Not that it would really matter to him. It’s a guy thing to do; Jack would undoubtedly think nothing of it. It’s just the idea of me touching myself THERE while he’s looking at me that— 

Gotta cut that out. Following that line of thought will only get me more depressed than I already am. 

So I look right into Jack’s eyes.  His face is mostly in shadow, darkly backlit by a pair of pale lavender moons. He stops two feet in front of me, the shadows of his eyes drilling right into mine. 

Neither of us speaks. We don’t move. We just stare at each other, and suddenly I wonder what Jack is seeing. 

He’s good at reading people, and I’m already aware that I wear my emotions on my face. 

Suddenly I’m afraid he knows what I was thinking about. I glance away, looking at the ground, embarrassed and feeling my face heat up from it. 

That’s when he touches me, his hand reaching out to give me an affectionate pat. His long fingers wrap around my nape, splayed out on my shoulder and against my cheek all at the same time, in that uniquely “Jack” gesture of camaraderie. 

Jack has big hands, with articulated thumbs that bend backward like crescent moons. His are musician’s fingers, long and nimble, but I’ve never asked him if he played an instrument. He could play me like a Stradivarius with those hands, making me sing with one touch—  

I’ve _got_ to stop this, but I want so much what I can’t ever have. 

What I want is _Jack_. 

Defying myself, I raise my eyes to meet his again and give him a grim nod, determined to cram down my feelings and somehow find a way to get rid of them. They’re inappropriate and can only lead to frustration and misplaced anger. It’s not Jack’s fault that I feel like this. 

That I love him. 

He’s just standing there, still staring at me, his hand on my shoulder. 

Wish I knew what he’s waiting for. Can’t ask him, because there’s a huge lump in my throat. Kinda feels like my heart. 

I step aside and trudge off to the edge of our camp. I make my first round, eyes on the horizon. There’s not a lot here, but experiences on other worlds have taught us to take nothing for granted. We keep watch because our lives depend on it. 

Only it’s difficult to concentrate on the job when Jack is still watching me. He hasn’t moved from where I left him, except to turn around as I made my circuit, his eyes never leaving me. I don’t even have to look at him to verify that he’s staring; it’s as if I can see myself through his eyeballs. I just know. 

Scary, how that happens between us. We can finish each other’s sentences like an old married couple at times. Conversely, we can be so diametrically opposed at other times that I’m not even sure who he is. 

Wish I knew what he was thinking right now. 

I check my bootlaces to be sure they’re tied and take up my stance. I hear him walking toward me, his step incredibly light for such a big man. He’s used to walking stealthily; it’s a hunter’s gait. Then he stops. 

He’s standing behind me, so close I can feel his body heat. I turn my head just enough to acknowledge his presence, not quite enough to actually see him. I’m afraid to let him see my face or look into my eyes again; afraid he’ll know, but I can’t help wondering what has brought him to me now.  So I just stay rooted to the spot, trying to remember to breathe, to keep my attention on our surroundings, and just do my job. 

Then he touches me, and my breath catches in my throat, my dick flaring to life in a rush of heat.  His left hand is on my waist, tucked beneath my arm, his fingers squeezing me through the field jacket. 

His touch is intimate; not a gesture someone would use to connect with a friend.  It’s a _lover’s_ touch.  I’m confused, not understanding, aware of my heartbeat thudding in my ears as fear and excitement surge through my veins. 

_What does he want?_

I can’t turn around. I’m paralyzed. Can’t blink. Can’t even swallow. 

He inches closer and his hand slides around to my belly. It’s so warm and feels so good. I can’t help leaning back against him, just a little. His hand smoothes up over my jacket, coming to a stop right over my racing heart. 

I close my eyes and exhale.  I didn’t want him to, but now he knows.  His touch and my reaction to it have told him _everything_. My heart has given my feelings away. 

Then a miracle happens. 

He kisses me, his lips warm and dry against the side of my neck. He’s not asking me for anything here, just telling me as plainly as he can that he feels exactly the same way about me as I do about him. 

I reach up to my chest and cover his hand with mine, tucking my fingertips into his palm, assuring him that he’s made the right move. 

He’s holding me so tenderly, and his whole face is buried against my neck now. 

This simple gesture has set me free. I’m soaring with unbound joy, my heart so full it hurts. He’s swaying now, dancing with me in the purple moonlight to the music in our hearts. That’s when he tells me without a sound that Jack O’Neill is a romantic. 

It’s so quiet here. Aside from the gentle breeze that’s blowing, there are no night sounds like crickets or frogs; just the soft rustle of our clothes as we move together. That’s when it hits me. 

The pizza last night was a peace offering. Jack came to my house to build a bridge of friendship with me, to ensure we were still connected, because he was working his way up to this. When we were talking last night, I completely missed all the subtext because the words flying back and forth between us got in the way. This was what Jack was struggling so hard to say, but couldn’t get out. 

Now Jack has spoken, straight from his heart to mine.  Without words, using only this simple encounter between us, we’ve communicated enough to know we’re both on the same page.  His hand on my waist was the question – his way of asking if it was okay for him to be that close.  As I’d leaned back on him, he’d received the answer that allowed him to continue.  His palm against my heart was his acknowledgement of my love for him, showing me that he knew and understood.  And finally, his kiss was his confession, the revelation of his heart to mine. 

His right hand is still on his P-90, because we’re still in the field, still on alert. I know him.  He’s continued to keep watch while I was distracted by him, and now he’s straightening up.  With a final pat to my shoulder, he’s pulling away, returning me to my duty.  I hear him stepping away now, his boots moving stealthily over the grass as he heads for our tent.  I struggle to pull my focus back to the job. 

I’m numb now, so full of love and joy that I can’t contain it all, and I’m thinking I must be glowing like a beacon.  As the full realization of what just happened slams into my guts, I find myself smiling and fighting the tears that suddenly fill my eyes.  I swipe at them to clear my vision, slipping my fingers up under my glasses, then finally taking them off and blotting my face with my sleeve.  Gradually, I manage to gather my planet-sized heart back into the confines of my body, gently roping in my emotions and tucking them away for later. 

Jack and I are lovers now. When we get home, we’ll be doing a lot of talking, because I’ll have to convince him not to retire in order to follow his heart to be with me. I know him well enough to be pretty certain that’s what he’s thinking right now. It shakes me up to know he’d give all this up for me, and I don’t intend to let him. He’s needed here, and as much as I want him safe, I know it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to sit at home and wait for me to come back to him, never knowing if the next mission will be my last. 

It’s better that we do this together, take the same risks and be there to watch each other’s six. 

We’ll talk about all that, because work and ideas are safe things to discuss. We’ll argue and disagree and maybe even get really pissed off at each other before we get all the wrinkles ironed out. Those are things that words can encompass and describe, unlike what we’re feeling now. 

_We’re lovers._

He has told me in true Jack O’Neill style – by simple demonstration of the concept. He communicates without words far more eloquently than any poet who ever lived. When we get home we’ll do a lot more of that kind of conversation, because I’ve got a few things to tell him, too. 

Fortunately for both of us, we seem to be speaking the same language, conveyed through the magic of touch. I’m really looking forward to more of that dialogue. 

_Oh_ , yeah. 

With a happy sigh, I feel all the tension that has kept me up so many recent nights draining away. I look out on this alien world and listen to the quiet and can’t wipe the smile off my face, because my Jack loves me, and all’s right with the universe. I can picture him lying in our tent, looking up at the canvas ceiling, and he’s smiling, too. 

_I love you, Jack O’Neill_ , I tell him in my mind. 

And in my heart, I hear his answer, ringing in the silence like golden laughter. 

FIN


End file.
